


dream away these evil days

by loghain



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:15:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1609712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loghain/pseuds/loghain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And he had Simon now, too. Well, he had him in the way you try clothes on at a store; it’s not really yours yet, but it’s a good fit, you like how it looks in the mirror. They’d kissed a few times, Simon not as saccharine as Rick had been, nor as gentle, and he didn’t have any of the tentativeness, either - he was down the opposite end of the kissing spectrum to Rick entirely, actually, and it made Kieren nervous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dream away these evil days

With Rick, things were as complex as they could get, and yet somehow, simple. Their lives were summer holidays and weekends out in the woods, down at the cave, avoiding Rick’s father and drinking cheap cider out of the same bottle, passing it to each other over a shared second-hand iPod and between shy, cautious kisses. They used to listen to Kieren’s mix CD on a playlist; easier, safer, hidden away among all those other files and songs. 

Everything about them was contained and secret, yet within that contained bubble came all the peace in the world, all the peace they needed, the confidence to paint their names onto the walls the same way girls would carve their own into trees. Rick had joked about putting a heart around it. It was so silly but tinged with sweet, and Kieren had laughed, embarrassed, and elbowed Rick in the side.

Kieren won’t pretend that he doesn't still miss their bubble, their world-in-a-bottle, but he’s getting good at only visiting Rick’s grave only sometimes instead of compulsively, and he’s learning the fine art of picking through memories to find the ones that really matter. Death, distance, fear, letters unread, none of that was really important anymore, was it? There was just the time they had and all the times that Kieren’s heart felt like it could lift out of his chest.

And he had Simon now, too. Well, he had him in the way you try clothes on at a store; it’s not really yours yet, but it’s a good fit, you like how it looks in the mirror. They’d kissed a few times, Simon not as saccharine as Rick had been, nor as gentle, and he didn’t have any of the tentativeness, either - he was down the opposite end of the kissing spectrum to Rick entirely, actually, and it made Kieren nervous. In a good way, he thought. And they might be well-preserved now but Simon was still older. Leaner, cooler, more confident - well, he was a real adult, and in the face of that fact, Kieren felt even younger than the age he’d been before he died.

If Simon knew Kieren was terrified and floundering how to navigate any kind of adult… _interaction_ , he ignored it. He was charming, conversational, hands perpetually in the pockets of that coat that looked like he’d robbed a giant. Preachy when appropriate, sometimes when not. Oh, Kieren did like him, with his wealth of knowledge and cloying smile. Sometimes, like now, it was easy to forget that Simon was a member of any kind of extremist group. 

“Is this Rick?” He’s looking at the painting. Kieren is looking at the back of his head but know what he’s on about immediately, nods without realising that Simon can’t see. Simon turns his head a quarter to look at Kieren in his peripheral, and Kieren nods for him again. Simon inclines his head, appreciative, asks, “What was he like? If y’dont mind me asking.”

Kieren wonders how to compartmentalise all his feelings and memories of Rick into two, maybe three sentences. Eventually, with Rick’s smile behind his eyelids he says, “He was a bit of a lad.”

“Bit of a lad?” Simon turns around. A smile is twitching at the edges of his lips. The pallor of his face is eerie in the dim light of Kieren’s room. Kieren tries to picture him, briefly, alive, or at least in cover up - but he can’t do it. Simon is just so… undead.

“Yeah.” Kieren nods. “He was nice. Funny, and warm. He was right popular in school, but he got into trouble a bit. Never too much though. Teachers liked him. And he looked out for me, and then he kept looking out for me. He always wanted me to get out of Roarton.” The fact he’d come so close to escape so many times now left an ashen taste in his mouth. He’d had and taken options - university, death, Paris, and yet here he remained.

Simon seemed to sense the weight under Kieren’s words and tipped his head down, saying, “I’m really glad you’re still here, Kieren. I know staying ain’t easy.”

“I haven’t really been given much of an option about that,” Kieren says, and in the ensuing silence he can feel words building in the back of Simon’s throat, words about his second life, the changes he could make around here, what he had to stay for. He doesn’t want to get into that conversation right now, so he washes away Simon’s thoughts with more words, telling him, “But it’s not like I have nothing now, is it?” He smiles, making eye contact, and Simon smiles back, somewhere between flattered and appeased.

Simon goes back to looking at the painting, after a moment. Kieren curses himself mentally. Was that a moment where he should’ve kissed him? That long, slow pause, the gap where a conversation topic has ended? “You’re very talented, Kieren.”

“Thanks.” Kieren looks at the painting. It’s not quite the Rick he remembers anymore. The Rick he remembers was somehow differently shaped. He speaks without really thinking. “Do you think if a second Rising ever really happened - “

“I don’t know,” Simon cuts him off, withdrawing his hands from his pockets and locking them behind his back. At first Kieren thinks he’s maybe offended him, asking if it’s possible for his dead ex-boyfriend-best-friend-first-love-thing to get a second redemption after all, but when Simon turns away from the painting, he looks more pensive than anything. “I wish I did.”

Kieren is suddenly reminded of Simon’s status as a disciple of the Undead Prophet. In his mind’s eye he sees blank faces of extremists gone rabid, members of the ULA who might or might not have been acting under instruction but who definitely did it in the name of the Prophet. They could’ve been Simon’s friends. Might be that he’d lost someone like Rick too, even. 

“Sorry,” Kieren says, as Simon closes the gap between them in the room. “Is this a bit weird, being up here, talking about - about Rick Macy?”

“Not at all,” Simon says. “We have to keep our loved ones in our hearts.”

Then Simon kisses him. Kieren’s wanted to do that all day, and even though alarm bells are ringing in the back of his head, telling him it’s his bedroom, his mum is home, Jem could be home any minute, anyone could walk in at any time - he kisses back. Simon’s hands cup his face, his neck, fingers long and explorative.

Not Rick. Nothing like Rick. And he does keep Rick in his heart. But he likes Simon too. He just hopes this doesn’t end the same way: With feet back in the grave.


End file.
